


No One Talks About Flowers Anymore

by sofarfetched



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofarfetched/pseuds/sofarfetched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Misty Day is captivated by a repeat customer at her flower shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from Tumblr user emilydeschanelismine. Posted on here by request of anonymous. Hope you enjoy :)

She comes into the shop in a rush, a flurry of dark skirts and pale skin breeze in through the doorway. You find yourself staring for a little bit too long, captivated by how she seems to be all made up of long elegant lines and curves. As you watch her, your fingertips drum quietly against the countertop; she has yet to fully notice you and is making her way around the crowded store floor, overflowing with life and rich colours. This woman moves with a reverence towards the flowers, a grace and delight that you’ve never seen in a person before... well, in nobody else except for the rare moments you caught a glimpse of your own joy in the mirror whilst you worked. The pads of her fingers graze over a magenta-hued petal and for some reason your breath stops short in your throat. The nearly inaudible sound resonates physically in your chest, like a baseball slamming into a fielder's glove. She looks up, somehow, at the impossibly quiet noise. Finally, she notices you, and you think, 'I know your type'. She is so tastefully put together, but she looks so sad. Yes, you know the type. Married, miserable. You can tell. It’s in her eyes, they dip low at the corners with an un-ending exhaustion, and you want to wrap her up in one of your shawls, sit her down to tea, and tell her the meanings of all the flowers in your shop. Even if that’d take hours. Or, especially so. 

”Hello.” she offers a small smile, and your lips quirk up in response. You swallow down the silence tightening your throat.

"Hey there; is there anything I can help you with?" your voice slips out warmer than expected, and the woman’s dark eyes brighten at the sound of your accent, and your smile widens a little bit further.

"I wanted to get, uh, apology flowers? My… husband and I, got in a fight yesterday, and I may have thrown a vase at him." She laughs, but the sound is little more than brittle wind. It’s then that you see the bruise concealed almost flawlessly on the top of her highly rounded cheekbone; a quiet fury begins to simmer in your chest as it tightens. Your smile is tight now, but you try and relax the set of your jaw when her look turns curious upon you.

"Sure thing." you respond quietly now, reserved and business-like. Slipping from behind the counter, you seek out a few bunches of deep purple flowers and mix them with a batch of white star-shaped beauties. "How’re these?"

She reaches out, brushing her fingers over the flowers, that same reverent gesture that makes your heart beat a little faster. You want to know if electricity sings at her fingertips. Her movements continue, tracing over individual petals, and she does not move away from you. Neither of your breathe, for just a second, when her eyes glance up to meet yours -- she quickly looks away, back to your flowers.

"They’re amazing… I-I, honestly don’t know if he deserv —" she stops short, flushing, embarrassed the words are coming out of her mouth in front of you. "What kind of flowers are they?"

"These little purple ones are purple hyacinths, they say, ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’." you try to catch her eyes, hoping that she recognizes she has nothing to be sorry for; the blush remains in her cheeks. "And the white ones are asphodel flowers, they mean ‘my regrets’… they kinda have a connotation with death, but we can ignore that cause they look pretty together, don’t they?" you crack a smile, hoping for a response (which you absolutely get). The blonde woman giggles, the most endearing sound you’ve ever heard, and in those three seconds, she’s radiant. 

"Honestly, I don’t think Hank will care one way or another, I just thought it might be, I don’t know, a nice gesture? Or something?"

"I think you’re lovely for even thinkin’ ‘bout it." you offer softly, before taking her hand and wrapping it around the bouquet. Leading her to the register, you ring her up and she takes her incredibly fancy wallet out of her incredibly fancy pocketbook, and it should bother you, but it really doesn’t.

"I… thank you. The flowers are gorgeous. I didn’t get your name?"

"My name’s Misty. Misty Day." 

"Misty Day… that’s a beautiful name." she almost turns to go before you stop her. 

"Wait!" when she turns, her sunglasses are halfway to her face, like she’s ready to put her barrier back between her and the world. "Don’t I get your name, too? It’s only fair." 

Her lips curve up slightly, surprised you even care. How could you not? 

"Cordelia. Cordelia Foxx." 


	2. Chapter 2

You see a flash of blonde through the shop window, hair more golden than anybody else you have ever met. Between the day you met Cordelia Foxx and today, she has stopped by your store two other times. It has been a whole month of you wondering to yourself when she was going to stop by again.

Finally, she stops pacing outside of the door and makes her way through the entry; you can see, now that her body isn’t blocked by countless masses of green foliage that she’s decked out all in black. This is new for her; you’re used to some darker colours, mixed often with vibrant floral prints (you favour those because it reminds you that somehow, you know, you both have a special relationship with flora), but black? Black is definitely deliberate.

"My mother died."

These were not the words you expected to come out of her mouth, to be perfectly honest. Her last two visits had just been “casual” stop-bys. Cordelia had claimed that she had ended up on a path nearing the store and decided to pick up some flowers for her dinner table and then her bedside dresser. You have a feeling your store is nowhere near her usual routes; this thought makes you feel both vaguely conceited and pleasantly smug. Focus, you remind yourself; today is different. And yet… she does not seem that different? Aside from the clothes, of course.

"Oh… I’m so sorry ta hear that, Miss. Cordelia. Are — I — is there something in particular I can get for you t’day?"

"Flowers for her, her grave. Or, her burial, I mean. It’s funny, she took so much from this earth, and now she’ll be giving it all back. Well, I guess not all of it, most of the energy from her life force is going to be transf— wow, I’m sorry. I’m rambling!" she stops herself short. You can feel your brow furrowing, in confusion and suspicion. Life force? Energy transfer?

Part of you feels you have no idea what she’s talking about, but part of you is reminded of a book that you read, long ago when you were young. You had found a small, worn, black leather-bound book in the attic of the local library. It told stories in spirals about secret, mysterious, mystical things. The words reminded you of Melacine, The Witch. The women in the book reminded you of Stevie. You’d always felt a power and an affinity towards Stevie and her music, lyrics that wrapped you up in safety and familiarity and magic. A part of you just knew that Stevie was like you. And the book, the book mentioned life forces. Energy transfers. For a very specific woman, the leader of these enchanting women: the Supreme.

But, you’re probably just being crazy. Cordelia seems like she’d be the spiritual type. Then again, sometimes, before she steps around the corner, into your field of view through the shop windows, it’s like you can feel her approaching from streets away. It’s like she radiates the same kind of energy that you have felt rushing from your fingertips and your very soul since the moment you were aware enough to recognize it.

"Misty?" her nervousness pulls you from your far-away thoughts.

"Sorry, Miss. Cordelia. I don’t know where my head went jus’ then. Flowers, for your momma. Let me see." as you turn away, her voice grasps your attention once again.

"Cordelia, please, Misty. I think I’ve… blathered enough in front of you to drop the formalities. Besides, you’ve been so helpful to me."

At this, you grin. “What, pickin’ flowers for you?” A very pretty, warm flush glows across her neck and cheeks, and you feel yourself smile a bit wider in response.

"I mean, you always just, listen, but not, not passively? I don’t know. Your presence feels like a support to me, I guess. Hell, I’ve been here, getting flowers of all things, in some pretty serious circumstances. A-and, I guess I don’t normally open up to people the way I always seem to run my mouth in front of you…"

You let the topic drop and offer her a warm smile, “I like it when you talk to me.” More blushing.

You search around the shop floor, drawing blanks on where you planted some of the darker flowers. Finally, you settle on white and red star-shaped blossoms as well as cream coloured blooms before you spot petals that are blood red at their heart with dark, almost charred looking edges. Arranging them neatly, you wrap them, and offer them to her.

"Oh, wow… you always have such great picks, Misty." The smile painted on her lips is so pleased that you can’t help the wave of enjoyable smugness that washes over you again. "You’re so thoughtful with your choices; would you explain these to me?"

“‘Course I will. The small, five-pointed ones, the white and red? They’re cypress flowers, symbolizin’ respect and dignity for souls departed from us. The lilies mean that the soul has restored its innocence aft’r death. And th-“

"I don’t think I want the lilies in there." her comment is blunt and you find yourself surprised by the brisk tone to her voice. Wordlessly, you slip them from the bouquet and place them on the counter. Not an innocent soul, then, or even deservin’ of one… "I’m sorry, I —"

"you don’t need to ‘pologize, Miss, I mean, Cordelia. It’s whatever you want it ta be, really. Anyway, then the dark roses I think they’re pretty self explanatory, though, if I’m bein’ honest, it’s mostly cause they look rather pretty along side the cypress flowers, don’t they?"

"Very pretty." she nods, eyeing you carefully with that intensely dark gaze she has, and you find the heat rising in your own cheeks now. She really shouldn’t be doing that. Very pretty, very married Cordelia shouldn’t be doing this to you.

"Well, consider them on the house. My condolences, an’ all."

"Oh, Misty, no, I couldn’t, I —"

"Please, Cordelia, don’t worry ‘bout it." the lack of formal title makes her lips curve upwards a bit. She still doesn’t really seem sad, or sad in the way people typically are when they lose someone. But she does look sad, for herself, those bright, wide eyes still looking worn around the corners.

Walking behind the counter, you fiddle about looking for the spools of ribbon you’ve got around. You find the right shade of almost black and she holds the bouquet with shaky hands as you tie a small bow.

"Thank you, Misty. I promise, I’ll be back soon for more flowers. You know, you’ve got the nicest flowers in the city? Well, aside from the ones growing in my greenhouse." Cordelia laughs a little and throws you a wink.

"You got a greenhouse?" curiosity peaked.

"Yeah, I… It’s quite nice, I think. Spacious, well-equipped, I even put in a record player in there the other day. Maybe I can show you around someday."

It’s not a offer, or even a promise, but it’s something.

"Yeah? I’d like that."

And with that, she is through the front door, black fabric rustling about her frame in the wind outside.


	3. Chapter 3

When she stops by the shop again, only a week has passed by, but the black clothes have vanished from the majority back into coloured accents against her lithe form. When she stops by and walks through the door, she looks deliberately for you, meets your eyes and grins, offering a small wave. Everything about her seems to be… glowing, almost; she just looks utterly radiant and you can’t put your finger on an exact reason. Bright. Stunning. Brilliant. Adjectives run like drivel through your mind until you get caught on beautiful. Yes, Cordelia Foxx looks incredibly beautiful as she smiles at you today.

"Hello." she greets you as she meets you, matching your leaning form against the register counter.

"Hey there, Cordelia. How can I help you?" she looks unsure for a moment, and the fleeting thought that she just ended up walking into your store for no good reason pops into your mind.

"I… I just wanted to get some, uh, some flowers for the house; there are new girls moving in soon and…"

"New girls?"

"Oh, I never mentioned did I? I’m the headmistress at Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. It’s about seven blocks from here, just round the corner, onto the street of the big houses?"

"Them fancy mansion-types?"

"Yeah, those."

"I didn’t know you were in charge of somethin’ so fancy, Miss. Delia." you startle yourself on the nickname, some hybrid of respect and yet a comfort at her presence. She laughs a little bit.

"Not so much fancy as necessity."

"If you don’t mind me askin’ —"

"I don’t. Mind, that is."

"What does your exceptional academy teach?" again, hesitation lines her features. Consideration weighs heavy in her eyes and her gaze rests upon you. You almost want to shift uncomfortably, but you don’t want your nervousness to betray you. She makes you far, far too nervous, sometimes, when she strides in here all bravado and control.

"Promise you can keep a secret?"

"Uh, sure?"

"That’s not really a great vote of confidence, Misty." she rolls her eyes, playfully.

"Yeah, I promise."

"Okay… watch this." she glances around the shop briefly; you’re not sure what she’s looking for. Finally, she spots a small, mostly lifeless little flower sitting on the far corner of the counter space. You internally acknowledge that you forgot to bring that one back to life and feel a small pang of pity for the withered, once golden petals and leaves. Cordelia wraps a palm around the potted plant and hovers another flat above the shriveled sprout. "Revertatur obsecro anima, inlumina tenebras, vita excolatur." Your eyes start to widen in surprise: Cordelia is a witch. Just as you are.

The little bud presses the shadowy recesses of death out from it’s fragile skin, colour slowly blossoming outwards until the petals pop vibrantly, almost shimmying with renewed life. Those reverent fingers of hers trace the petals, a soft smile gracing her lips before she leans forward and looks up at you expectantly with wide, inquiring eyes.

"Cordelia…" you are trying to contain your excitement, you really are, but without any impetus on your part, you find your hands grabbing at a square planter with a flowering strawberry plant. Focusing energy into your fingertips, you let your hands hover in much the same way hers just were, before you stroke each of the flowers and leaves on the plant, watching proudly as lush, ripe fruits bud from beneath like stemmed rubies.

When you finally glance back up to make eye contact with her, she’s so close to you, your noses are almost touching. And consequently, you start to feel the need to take deeper breaths. It’s hard though, to breathe at all, really, when she’s looking at you like you are magic incarnate; Cordelia’s eyes are sparkling with your newfound shared secret. You find yourself captivated by the way she bites down on her lower lip, tugging tensely as she tries to contain herself.

At last, “Misty. Oh my god.” you offer her a shy smile. She is the first person you’ve ever revealed your powers to, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone quite as delighted as she seems right now.

Her hands traverse the short distance between her body and yours, grasping at your own hand and twining your fingers with hers.

"This is amazing! I haven’t met a witch with an interest and skill in botany before… the girls are all focused on lighting their cigarettes and moving the damn piano."

"So, lemme get this straight. You teach an academy of girls… all ‘bout witchcraft?"

"I — yeah, we’re a, a —"

"Coven."

"Coven." you finish together.

Your head tilts and your brow furrows as you stare at her thoughtfully, considering what all this means for you, for her. She gives your hands a gentle squeeze and you look down at your linked hands, considering.

"Y’know… I always wanted to find my tribe, Miss. Delia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry if the Latin is wrong. Anyone who knows better, please, feel free to advise me!


	4. Chapter 4

The jangling of your shop bells rings more aggressively than usual, and the clamour causes you to look up from the spell book you’ve been reading. Three young girls stride through the door, and without really thinking about it, you recognize them as witches; probably Cordelia’s students, you think absentmindedly. The girls radiate a decent amount of power — though it is nothing like the sheer force of energy you feel when a certain blonde witch is in your presence.

Point blank, the slender, flaxen-haired girl says to you, “You’re the woman Cordelia’s been getting flowers from, right?”

You almost want to be taken aback, but mostly, you’re just curious as to how this girl could possibly know that.

"Uh, yeah, I am. How did you…?"

"My name’s Zoe, Zoe Benson. And this is Queenie and Nan." the two girls beside her offer a smirk and a wave each. "Cordelia’s brought home a lot of flowers in the last few weeks, but none of them are ones from her greenhouse… we checked. She had mentioned she’s been getting flowers from the nicest shop in town. A little research brought us here." she shrugs, failing to notice the blush you can feel trickling up into your cheeks.

"Oh, alright. Uh, so what can I do for you, girls?"

"We need an arrangement of flowers that’ll cheer Cordelia up. She’s been moping around the academy for days now, and it’s kind of driving us insane." one of the other witches speaks up — Queenie, you recall her name. You’re immediately concerned by the description of her emotional state, the woman who you can’t seem to get off your mind nowadays.

"What’sa matter with Miss. Delia, now?" you ask, hoping the interest and familiarity doesn’t bleed too much into your voice.

"Well… there’s no less blunt way to say this, but… her husband, Hank? He was kind of…" Zoe starts.

"A grade A asshole?" Queenie offers.

"Uh, I was gonna say menace, or something, but that, too, I guess." Your brow furrows as you try to process what this means.

"Was this Hank tryin’ to hurt Cordelia in some way?"

"Trying to hurt all of us." Queenie emphasizes.

"Oh…"

"It’s okay, he’s dead now, but…"

"That’s okay?" you respond, startled. You’re both upset that anyone would dare to hurt the beauty you’ve been reveling in the last few months, but you’re also appalled at any relief in regards to the idea of death. Life, after all, is your forte.

"He, and the people he worked for, were trying to persecute us for something that we can’t help is in our blood!" the words spill violently, emotionally from Zoe’s lips; her visceral reaction makes you realize just what kind of man Cordelia seems to have accidentally married. You dealt with them once before, they tried and succeeded in driving you from your home in the swamp. There was a reason you hid behind the facade of a flower shop deep in the center of town. Nobody would look twice at a flower shop. Everybody who saw it questioned your little shack in the middle of marshland. Clearly, it must’ve been a witch who was living there. They were right in believing that; you just never thought that they would be able to find and target you in the way that they did. You can still hear the silver bullets whizzing by your ear as you scrambled to grab your 8-track and your countless collection of cassette tapes.

"Witch hunters…" you want them to understand that you understand exactly what they’re saying. The trio in front of you goes wide-eyed for a moment, surprised you know what they are before nodding in affirmation.

"Anyways… it’s fine, now. Cordelia dealt with them as she had to, but now… we can’t even get her to leave the house." Zoe shrugs nervously, hoping this assuages your curiosity. It does, and this explains why you haven’t see her in weeks now.

"So, do you think you could put together a bouquet that’ll maybe at least bring a smile back to her face? It’s making the house so uncomfortable, with her pacing in her room all day long."

"Yeah, sure. ‘Course I can do that." You come to the concerning realization that you would do anything to put a smile on Cordelia Foxx’s face, even if you didn’t get to see that smile in person.

The quiet, brunette girl smiles at you, sly and amused. “It’s not Foxx anymore. It’s Goode.” Confusion must cross your face because she elaborates further, “Well, she’s single now. Goode is her maiden name. The Supreme before her was Fiona Goode, her mother.”

Well, shit, you think. You finally understand just who the woman you’ve been drawn towards is. An absurdly powerful witch, from a lineage of powerful witches, who also just so happens to be available as of late. The girl smiles again, Nan, you think, and you smile nervously back. How the heck is she doin’ that?

"I’m clairvoyount, Misty." Oh, you think, that explains it. She even knew your name, whilst the other girls hadn’t really bothered to ask. You don’t mind so much; you’re used to it. Before Nan, Cordelia was the only one who had ever bothered to learn your name before. You nod, before moving from behind the counter to gather a collection of flowers, hopefully so dazzling that they bring Cordelia back out from under her shell.

You combine tender pink azalea and arbutus flowers with bright and cheerful acacia and bittersweet blossoms into a neat and robust bouquet that shouts with joy and life, honesty and love, you think to yourself, too soon before you can stop the thought from occurring. You find yourself blushing, once again, finding no excuse for the depth of your emotion for this woman you barely know. For whatever reason, you can’t seem to help yourself when it comes to Cordelia Goode. Your lips curve upwards, slightly, at the thought of her original surname. Goode. Yes, you think, good, indeed.

Just then, you hear the chime on your door ring out once again. As you turn, you see the mortified looks on the three young girls’ faces and you move your line of vision further to see none other than the woman you’re all concerned about. A chord strikes inside your chest at how tired she looks, worn but still so beautiful. You hold the bushel of flowers tighter in your hands.

"Girls? What are you doing here?"

"I — uh… we…"

"Hey, Miss. Delia. The girls were just thinkin’ of you, and thought you might appreciate some flowers. I-I… I heard what happened, and I am so, so sorry." you lower your voice, "You deserved so much better, darlin’." Her deep brown eyes widen almost comically before she straightens her expression into one of stern and scolding for when she faces her students.

"Girls, you know you didn’t have to do this; really, I am fine." soft embarrassment tinges her tone, and you want to reach out to her, but you don’t know what to say. "Please, go home."

"But —"

"I mean it, girls. I can manage. Thank you, for your concern. Really, I appreciate it." a full-lipped smile graces her lips, mostly genuine but lightly exasperated.

The three girls shuffle out the door, offering you silent goodbyes, and they leave the two of you utterly alone.

"I can’t believe they did this…" Cordelia murmurs, under her breath. She definitely thought you wouldn’t catch that.

"I’m glad they did, though, Miss. Delia. Them comin’ here allowed me to put this together for you. On the house." You offer your full hands to hers, and she reaches out with a grateful look coming to rest softly on her face.

"Thank you, Misty. They’re gorgeous, as usual. Would you tell me what they mean?"

"Uh… yeah, sure." You weren’t expecting this, with the girls, but you also hadn’t been expecting Cordelia to come into the shop either. Thus, you had allowed yourself to be a bit indulgent with your flower choices, and now, you find yourself regretting it, just a bit. You recite the meanings out without making any eye contact, whatsoever. "So, these orange-y bulby ones are bittersweets, and they symbolize truth. The azaleas, these pink ones here, say, ‘take care of yourself, for me’. Then the yellow buds an’ the other pink ones, they represent a—"

You almost can’t bear to bring yourself to say it, but she’s looking at you so damn intently, it’s making your breath stutter in your throat.

"They represent a?" she encourages softly. Inhaling, slowly, you brace yourself for rejection, disgust even. It’s really too soon for you to be saying something like this to her, but you can’t really help yourself.

"The yellow ones are acacia blossoms, and they represent a concealed love. And the little pink-tipped, star-shaped ones are arbutus flowers. I guess they don’t really, uh, fit in with the rest ah the flowers, but they mean ‘thee only do I love’… I really jus’ thought they’d fit nicely with the rest of ‘em." Your cover seems almost pathetic, but you also can’t really believe you proclaimed love to this woman. You want to scream at yourself get a grip! But you can’t really help that you’re utterly smitten, and you find yourself wondering how you fell so hard, so fast. The expression on her face is unreadable, and you find yourself beginning to sweat.

"Uh, Miss. Delia?" she snaps out of her haze and offers you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. If your heart beats any faster, you might have a heart attack.

"Misty, these are so incredibly beautiful. I’m, I — I can’t believe you thought of me when you picked these out." Insecurity wraps around her features for a moment, and she clutches the blossoms to her chest like a security blanket, a grin resting on her face. Conflict debates on her face for a moment before she reaches out and holds your arm, pulling you gently towards her, before she places a kiss on your cheek, light, but lingering a bit longer than what would be considered friendly. A small hope bubbles up in your chest, and you want to fall into her embrace, maybe forever. "Thank you, Misty. Thank you, so, so much. I love them."

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost hear ‘I’ve fallen in love with you, too’ dancing upon her lips. It’s probably in the way she’s looking at you, right now, with the most bewildered and thrilled and terrified look on her face, that makes you believe she feels the same way.


	5. Chapter 5

As you shuffle about the store, finding the right elements for the perfect bouquet, you think about how you should probably just stop giving away flowers on a whim. After all, you run a damn flower shop, and yet all you’ve wanted to do since you first met Cordelia was throw long-stemmed roses at her feet, and hope that she’d understand what you were trying to say. Then again, it’s not as if it takes you any effort at all to grow your flowers, a little bit of energy on your part and the initial start up costs have long ago been more than refunded. You chuckle to yourself, amused and distracted as you pick out vibrant, multi-colored chrysanthemums.

The bell on the door registers with a delay, and you look up to see Cordelia strolling towards you, determination written in her features and a bouquet of her own in her hands. Her steps lose a bit of their boldness when she finally reaches you and your eyes meet and she almost burrows her face into the flowers she’s holding.

A bout of confusion fogs your mind as you try to figure out what she’s doing here if she already has flowers in her hands. Then your mind automatically catalogues the different flora that are lucky enough to be clasped by her fingers. You blush at that before setting your mind on the right track.

Morning glories, with spiraling, indigo-hearts are the jewels of her bouquet, almost glistening with what you can only presume is magic. A flower for affection, you think, before picking out the next plant. Twisting ivy leaves wrap around the other flowers’ stems, ivy for friendship. Sprigs of blue salvia stand out tall and proud, their delicate violet petals whispering I think of you. Soft, delicate lavendar-colored blossoms peek from between lush green, and it takes you a moment to process this flower, one that is more unfamiliar to you. Finally, you recognize them as thyme flowers, and you can’t help but think that this is the most bizarre, unique, charming bouquet you’ve ever seen. Let’s see… thyme stands for… strength? The final flower in the bouquet are a set of a few purple-edged white blossoms; they look almost like a combination of a calla lily and a regular lily, and you realize that it is because they’re just on the verge of the most beautiful bloom. You scour your mind for this one, definitely one unfamiliar in this area, so your brain turns to the countless books you skim on different flowers from across the world. Finally you settle on the idea of the yucca flower. They often don’t come with a specific meaning, you realize, but they do symbolize a persistent beauty. Resilient beauty. Kinda like Miss. Delia, you think with a small smile playing about your lips.

"Misty?" she finally snaps you out of your haze, though you’re sure it’s really only been seconds at most. When you look at her now, you think back to the woman you met months ago. She had looked so tired then, so defeated. Her eyes now contain a glow that hold some secret you desperately wish to reveal. You wonder if she would let you. The corners of her eyes crinkle, the corners lifting upwards as she looks at you, bemused. "Is there something on my face?"

"Wha-? No, n-no, I was just… you look real pretty today, Miss. Delia. Like a rare flower… a true beauty." She giggles, doing a small twirl to show off her sundress to you before blushing at her girlish antics. You want to reach over the counter and kiss her with everything you’ve got.

"Thank you, Misty. I-I… I wanted to give these to you. A gift from my greenhouse, to say thank you, for everything, and…" Cordelia trails off, but does not look like she knows how to continue. Instead, "I hope the meaning is conveyed right, but I don’t have the same type of knowledge that you do, so it’s all very basic here, I just…" she blushes more, and pushes her hand towards yours, offering the handful of flowers to you. They’re tied up with a deep blue velvet bow, and you put the flowers you’re holding down so that you can take hers. Your nose buries into the fragrant blossoms and a warmth flutters across your skin as the scent overwhelms your senses.

"They’re gorgeous, Miss. Delia. Thank you, so much. I’m not sure I understand the intent behind the thyme, and the yucca?"

"Oh, I -" She clearly had not been planning on explaining her choices. "Well, I looked you up, Misty Day, and, you don’t go by Misty Day under your shop info? But you told me your name, your real name. Why?"

You suddenly realize what information she has found on you. That you had grown up out in hick country, that you had suffered at the hands of the people you were supposed to be loved by the most. That you had been burned, at the stake, for what you are. And you had escaped, here, hoping to never have to think about those days and that night ever again. Averting your gaze, you find your shaking hands falter.

"Misty… Misty, please look at me."

"I’m sorry, Miss. Cordelia, I just. That’s a part of my life that I don’t talk ‘bout. For good reason. If you looked me up, you know why."

"Yes, I do, and it’s silly, I know, but… that’s why I chose thyme, for your strength. F-for, everything that you overcame. And then you came here, into town, and you created something amazing. And you helped me, Misty. You gave me strength when I needed it." You look up at that, meeting her eyes. You feel ashamed for the water brimming against your lower lashes; she has a similar response when she sees your face and her hands reach up haltingly, before brushing one of your tears away. "And then the yucca, it’s a meaning more ambiguous, no?" You nod. "And I thought, well, it’s a beautiful plant. Strong, resilient. Steadfast and sturdy in the storm. I think that’s you. A beacon of light in the dark." she offers her final words shyly alongside a nervous smile.

"Cordelia," you put the bouquet down on the counter and walk around it so you can face her fully, "why did you come here today?" It comes out sounding a bit blunt, due to the emotions making your throat tight and dry, but you do need her to answer and you need her to answer now. Because she looks at you with hope lighting her eyes, and it’s almost too much to bear. You know you can trust her, that much is for certain, but you’ve never been close to anyone before, and she’s scaring you, the way she already knows the quiet invisible parts of you, the way she reads your soul like her favorite spell.

"I was hoping… you’d maybe want to go out with me sometime?" she pushes through, valiantly, given the undoubtedly wide-eyed, dumb-founded look on your face. You’re not sure that she understands you’d never be enough for her and her expectations. And yet you want to explode you’re so elated. You want to fulfill her every impossible dream. "You know, like a date, if you want?" she prods, waiting with anxiously twisted-together fingers held tightly in front of her.

When you reach for her, she leans forward almost like she’s been expecting it. Her hands wind around the fabric of your dress as you move your lips to hers. She makes a small, soft, muffled noise as you hold her closer, your hand skating across her jaw to rest there, your palm molding against the spot. Her lower lip is warm from her teeth worrying it, and you kiss the swollen spot repeatedly, one, two, three times.

Both your hands move up to frame her now heated cheeks, and you can tell one flustered part of her wants to lower her eyes and avoid the emotional confrontation you both now have to face. The other part of her is looking at you like she never wants to look at anything or anyone else ever again. You’re holding a gift in your hands, right now, you think, and you don’t want to let her go.

"Cordelia," you say her name like a promise, and as she looks up at you, she is almost giddy and is very much full of hope. "I think… I think I would go anywhere with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it; I know I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
